


Schitty Stories to Tell in the Dark

by fishyspots, hullomoon, samwhambam, schittposting, ships_to_sail, storieswelove, yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Chapter 3 has brief non-graphic gun violence off-screen, Chapter 4 mentions the concept of a "black widow" (person not spider), Chapter 6 has a brief description of a (possibly) murdered body, Chapter 7 makes non-graphic reference to animal medical procedures, Fairies, Fairy Ring, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Horror, Macbeth References, Patrick Brewer/David Rose (background), Storytelling, Trolling, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots/pseuds/fishyspots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hullomoon/pseuds/hullomoon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwhambam/pseuds/samwhambam, https://archiveofourown.org/users/schittposting/pseuds/schittposting, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail, https://archiveofourown.org/users/storieswelove/pseuds/storieswelove, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: David and Alexis are hosting a horror movie night at the motel one Halloween when the power goes out, so everyone tells scary stories while they wait for it to come back on.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 71
Kudos: 50





	1. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> Note from schittposting: This started as an idea I posted on tumblr for a fic where some Schitt’s Creek characters get together and tell scary stories, and I’m thrilled to have had six extremely talented authors join me in making that happen! This fic was so much fun to work on, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter text by schittposting, art by fishyspots.

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Stevie says from the spot where she’s lounging on David’s bed. “The Rose siblings bustled about the room, getting ready for their guests to arrive, but little did they know, this night would end in horrors they had never before known.”

“Okay,” David says, “this movie night was your idea, and it’s not too late to cancel, so—” He’s interrupted by someone knocking at the motel room’s door.

“Suddenly, a knock at the door!” Stevie says, wide-eyed, barely holding back her shit-eating grin. “But would there be a guest on the other side, or a murderer?” She makes her voice sound spooky on the last word and wiggles her fingers in David’s direction as he glares at her and answers the door to find Patrick on the other side.

“Welcome,” David says, giving his boyfriend a little kiss as he ushers him in through the door to the motel room and out of the rain. “You’re the first one to arrive, we’re still setting up.”

“So what are we watching tonight?”

“The Crows Have Eyes,” Stevie says. “The first one, not the sequel Mrs. Rose auditioned for last year. I heard that one was terrible. This one should be… marginally less terrible?”

“Well, that’s a glowing review. Sounds… fun.”

“I wanted to have a little games night, especially seeing as we have the perfect number for ultimate gameplay. Alexis wanted to have a party”—David rolls his eyes at this—“and Stevie wanted to have a horror movie night. And even though she doesn’t _actually_ live here and isn’t _actually_ one of the people hosting, Stevie somehow won that debate.”

“So there’ll be six of us, then? Who else is coming?”

“Twyla and Ted. Why is Ted coming, anyway?” David asks Alexis. “Won’t that be awkward?”

“Oh my god, just because he’s seeing Heather doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, David,” Alexis says, aggressively shifting the bowls of popcorn and candy around on the table.

“Mmkay, that’s the fifth time you’ve rearranged the snacks, so I think they’re fine now,” David says, gently taking the bowl she’s holding out of her hands and setting it down. Alexis flops onto her bed with a sigh, then hops up a fraction of a second later when there’s a knock on the door, smoothing her hair down nervously as she flounces over to answer it.

“Twy!” Alexis says when she opens the door, her face showing equal parts relief and disappointment. She takes a breath, then smiles at her friend. “Come in.”

“Hi,” Twyla says, waving to the group. “I brought day-old donuts from the cafe.” She holds up a paper bag, now damp with rain, then tilts her head as Alexis accepts it. “Actually, these might be two days old.”

“Mmm, yum,” Alexis says, lips pursed. She hands the bag off to David with a wide-eyed look as she ushers Twyla over to a seat on her bed. David pinches the folded top of the bag between his thumb and forefinger and holds it away from his body before depositing it on the table with the rest of the snacks.

“Patrick, Twyla, can I get you anything to drink?” David asks.

“You’re not gonna offer me a drink?” Stevie says.

“You already have a drink,” David says, gesturing to the bottle of wine Stevie’s been swigging from directly.

Stevie slides down to sit on the floor and takes another pull from her bottle as David hands out drinks and settles onto his bed with Patrick.

There’s another knock at the door and Alexis springs up to answer it, grinning widely when she sees Ted, still in his scrubs, on the other side.

“Ted, hi! Come on in,” Alexis singsongs at him.

Ted gives a little wave as he enters. “Sorry I’m late, everyone, I had some evening appointments and I had to _spay_ at work later than expected.” David and Stevie give a little groan at this, and Patrick looks like he’s holding one back himself.

Alexis gets Ted a drink, then goes back to her spot on her bed, while Ted takes a chair at the table. Stevie gets up to put the movie on, then settles back in and presses play.

About fifteen minutes into the movie there’s a big jump scare, and of course that’s when Johnny opens the door between the rooms, startling everyone. Twyla lets out a squeak.

“Oh, hi, everyone, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says as Stevie pauses the movie. “I just wanted to check if you kids need anything before your mother and I head to bed.”

“Ugh, Dad,” Alexis says.

“We’re fine, thank you very much,” David says, cringing.

“Okay, well, just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“They’re fine, John,” comes Moira’s voice from the other room.

“Alright, have fun, kids. Don’t stay up too late, now.”

“Dad!” David and Alexis groan as Stevie snickers.

“Good night,” Johnny says, finally closing the door.

“There’s been a murder—of crows!” the heroine shrieks onscreen, when suddenly there’s a clap of thunder outside that sounds very close, immediately followed by a loud popping noise, and the TV screen goes black as the lights flicker and then die.

“Kids? Is everyone okay in there?” Johnny calls out as he opens the door between their rooms again and he enters with a giant flashlight. “I think the power went out.”

“You think?” David says sarcastically, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the beam his dad points in his direction.

“I’m gonna go check the fuse box, see if there’s anything I can do to fix it, but it sounded like a transformer blew, so we might be out of luck until the power company can get out here.”

“Do you need any help, Mr. Rose?” Stevie asks.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I don’t want to break up the party. You kids have fun. I’ll call Roland, see if he can get the power company to come out here any sooner. In the meantime, just sit tight, I don’t think anybody should be going out in this storm.”

Johnny leaves, along with his flashlight, and the group is plunged into darkness again for a moment. David turns on his phone’s flashlight and uses it to locate a large, three-wick Rose Apothecary candle. Stevie hands him a lighter and soon they have three flickering flames to see by, casting a gentle glow over the center of the room.

“So… what should we do now?” asks Twyla.

“Well, it’s Halloween, the power’s out, and it’s raining cats and dogs out there. Sounds like a perfect _paw-portunity_ for some spooky stories.” Ted says, pulling his chair closer to the group. “Unless you’re a bunch of scaredy cats.”

“Okay, then. Who wants to go first?” Stevie asks.


	2. Twyla

Twyla raises her hand. “Ooh, I can go first!” She looks around the room before she drops her voice to a whisper. “I’m pretty sure I was in a fairy ring once,” Twyla says.

“Shouldn’t that be something you know happened?” David asks.

“Hush, David, you don’t remember the time you slipped and fell at JTT's pool party, but it still happened."

“Choke on candy corn,” David shoots back.

“So, fairy ring,” Ted interrupts before David and Alexis really start into their bickering. “That sounds  _ fairy _ exciting.”

Twyla’s eyes light up. “Yeah! I was staying at my grandparent’s cabin with my cousins, Jonathan, Nathan, and Brian. I was sleeping when they woke me up and convinced me to go outside. I grabbed my jacket and Brain grabbed a flashlight.

It was fall so it was cold and with the moon out it looked so beautiful. That was until Brian said we were going to go into the forest.”

Twyla sits up straight. “Our grandma only had one rule when we visited her. Never,  _ ever _ , go into the forest at night.”

“I tried to head back to the cabin, but then Jonathan grabbed my hand and I couldn’t break free.” Twyla shrugs her shoulders. “They told me we would be fine and Brian’s flashlight did help. I thought we would be there for a few minutes and then they would get spooked and we could leave.” She pauses. “That was until we saw the light.”

“I’m assuming that wasn’t a metaphor,” Stevie drawls.

“Before I could say anything the boys headed that way and we broke into a clearing.” She gives a wide unnatural smile. “There were about twenty people dancing in a circle around a massive bonfire. The fire reflected the joy on their faces.” Her smile breaks for a second. “But there was no music.” She shakes her head and the wide smile returns. “Anyway, we looked at each other and ran to the group.”

“The first thing I heard was the music and it was wonderful! I hadn’t seen the musicians before but I could see them now. The music was a fast-paced jig and all the dancers were laughing and cheering.” Twyla closes her eyes.

The group in the room all look at each other perplex.

“My feet seemed to know the steps.” Twyla continues and starts to wave her head side to side. “I remember my hair bouncing in every direction and the fire was so hot. I saw Nathan and he looked so happy.” She stops swaying and her face changes to concern. “But I couldn’t find Jonathan or Brian. Jonathan wasn’t next to me like I thought. Actually they were both strangers. I tried to let go of the stranger’s hands but they wouldn’t let me.” She starts to do a full-body shake.

“Uh, Twy?” Alexis says. 

Twyla doesn’t answer Alexis. “I tried to stop dancing but my feet wouldn’t let me. I remember them hurting really bad.” She stops shaking and moves back to swaying her head back and forth. “Then I went around the circle again. I don’t know how long I was dancing. I was having fun. I was laughing and smiling so hard it hurt my face.” She pauses for a moment and then gestures to her stomach. “But then I felt a strong pull here like I was tethered to something. The feeling grew along with a building pressure pushing down on me. I heard a whoosh-pop, and then nothing.”

Twyla opens her eyes. “I woke up and my feet were aching. They hadn’t felt that bad since the time my uncle’s car broke down and I had to walk for miles to get some gas. The grass was wet with dew under me, the sun was out, and when I sat up I saw Jonathan and Nathan. A few feet away I saw some trampled grass and it made a perfect circle, it was a fairy ring. When I saw it, I got these flashes of faces, the sound of a fiddle, and the heat of a fire on my face. Nathan tried to reach out and touch it, but I remember feeling this sense of foreboding and then I grabbed his hand and we ran back to the cabin.”

A small smile broke out on Twyla’s face. “Whenever I go back to their cabin and if the moon is full I sometimes still get an urge to go into the forest.”

It is silent for a moment as everyone looks at Twyla.

“What about the third cousin?” Patrick asks.

Twyla tilts her head. “Third cousin?”

“You know, Brian,” Stevie replies.

Twyla furrows her brow. “I don’t have a cousin named Brian.” 

Everyone in the room side-eyes each other as confirmation of what they just heard.


	3. Alexis

Patrick breaks the tense silence. “Okay, so, uh, who’s next.” 

“Oooh, me!” Alexis says. “I have _such_ a scary story.” 

“I thought you didn’t feel fear,” David says. 

“What are you talking about, David?” 

“Nothing, whatever. Go ahead, tell us you terrifying story,” he says, throwing his arms up a little. 

She settles her sights away from David and back on her audience. “Oh my god, okay, okay. So. This one time, I was in Miami with Naomi — David you remember Naomi right? The one whose dad owned that oil company?” 

“Half of your friends had dads who owned oil companies.” 

“No but like, you hooked up with her that one time, at the Thanksgiving party in Phuket?” 

David cringes. “Yep. Yes. I remember Naomi.” 

“Okay, yeah, so Naomi invited me to Miami in the middle of winter, and I didn’t _really_ like her that much? But it was the middle of winter and I had just spent like two weeks in the Alps at a chalet, so I was looking all gross and pale — there’s only so much tanning beds can do, you know? Anyway, I had this adorable new Fendi bikini that I was just like dying to show off, so I borrow Stavros’s jet and—” 

“I knew this was going to be some creepy murder story about Stavros.” 

“Oh my god, David, lay off, it has _nothing_ to do with Stavros! Why are you so obsessed with him?” 

“I had to send you fake passports twice in one month because of him! Why do you think—” 

“Which Stavros was this?” Stevie asks. 

“Shut up, Stevie,” David says. 

“I think this was Stav _dos_ ,” Ted says smiling. “I don’t think the first Stavros had a jet.” 

“No, they both had jets,” Alexis says with a tiny shake of her head, like she’s trying to brush off an intruding thought. “ _Anyway_ ,” she says, with one last glare at her brother. “We were spending the week at Soho Beach House, and one day Chris—” 

“Sorry, who’s Chris?” Patrick asks David, almost in a stage whisper. 

“I have no fucking clue.” 

“Naomi’s boyfriend! Keep up, Patrick. So Chris bails on us for dinner and is acting all sketchy, which was like totally fine, because Naomi didn’t really like him anyway? He just used to get _really_ good Super Bowl seats and Naomi was freakishly obsessed with football. Which like, I kept telling her, just date a football player! But she was _so_ intense about it? ‘Alexis, I don’t want to distract them! What if I’m like a bad luck charm?’ So weird. Like, I dated this soccer player once—” 

“Hey, Lex?” Ted said. “The story?” 

“Right, right, so, anyway, Chris ends up getting in the middle of this _very_ messy drug deal and Naomi and I have to go bail him out at like 2am. We went straight from LIV, in our club outfits, which was just like super annoying.” 

“Oh wow,” Twyla says. “I’ve never bailed anyone out of jail in Miami before. Though I did have to fly down to Jacksonville to bail my uncle’s girlfriend out—” 

“No, Twy, like we had to bail him out of the drug deal. They were double charging him so we had to take an Uber to this totally sketchy rooftop and give him his huge backpack filled with money.” 

“Where’d you get a backpack filled with money?” a wide-eyed Patrick asks. 

“It was his backpack, he just needed us to bring him the extra cash. So we handed it off and didn’t get home till like six am, which was so annoying because I had a noon hair appointment.”

“That’s it? That’s your scary story? This isn’t even your worst Miami drug bust story! What about that time you had to call me—” 

“No, chill, David, I’m getting to it! So the next day I have foils in my hair and I’m getting my highlights done when Naomi gets _another_ text from Chris. And it turns out Chris, who was, like, not the brightest, was buying just like, _way_ too much cocaine and was having some issues because not all of it came in? Or too much came in? I don’t really remember. So he drops a pin for us and I wanted to wait to finish my highlights but he tells Naomi it’s an _emergency_ which like, _so_ dramatic. No one was going to kill him just because they had him at gun point, they wanted their money! So I don’t even have time to wash my hair, Naomi is grabbing me by the arm and pulling me out. I managed to wrap a scarf around my head but _barely_. 

“So we get in _another_ Uber, end up in some mansion on Star Island. The views were just like—” her eyes go dreamy and she does a little hair flip at the memory. “Of course Chris had gotten himself in the middle of this _massive_ drug ring, just like totally avoidable. I handled a drug handoff _twice_ that size when I was fifteen and my boyfriend had to take the jet back to Geneva for an emergency, but whatever. So they start screaming a lot when we get there, in Russian I think, and we don’t really understand what’s going on but everyone has guns and is being _super_ dramatic. They end up zip tying my hands together —” 

Twyla makes a little gasp and covers her mouth, and Alexis mistakes the horror for disdain. “I _know_ , Twy, I told you. Amateurs. Like you’re Russian mafia and you don’t even remember to have a pair of handcuffs on hand? Even I have two good pairs in here somewhere. 

“Anyway, so they’ve got me zip tied together, so I put on my best y’know” — another head flip — ”and ask the cutest guy if he’ll get me a glass of water, because I’m just _so_ thirsty. Which like, I was. It’s so hot in Miami. So the trick is,” she says, and extends her arms in front of her, touching at the wrist. She looks like a flight attendant giving a safety demo. 

“You use both hands to drink the water, and pull the zip tie really, really tight with your teeth when no one is paying attention. So I’m waiting and waiting and I’m losing circulation in my wrists when I hear a really loud scream from the room they’d taken Naomi and Chris into, and then two gunshots. So I take the chance and pull my hands over my head and bring them down really hard — like I showed you, David — and manage to take down the two guys and get the keys to their Mercedes, and before they can stop me I’m out of the house and driving down the bridge back to South Beach.” 

“But Alexis…” says Stevie, sounding like she’s afraid to ask the question. “What about Chris and Naomi. Did they—” 

“What? No! They were in the car with me. Weren’t you listening? Naomi kicked one guy in the crotch, and then shot the other one in the foot with the first guy’s gun. Anway, we got back to the hotel and my hair was just such a fucking disaster, over bleached and dry and _literally_ snapping off in my hands. Worst of all, my scarf had fallen off and the pap snapped a photo of me and so I ended up in InStyle looking like that. So my point is, you wanted scary? _Never_ stop mid-highlight. It was a _disaster_.” 

“ _That’s_ what you took from the story? That your fucking _hair_ got messed up?” 

“It was a big deal, David! It looks like shit for _weeks_. I had to wear one of those headwrap things to the New Year’s party at Ryan Gosling’s house! And mom put a wig on me for Christmas!” 

“I cannot fucking believe—I lost sleep over that Miami trip and you were worried about your fucking highlights! And you think that’s the scary part of the story?” 

“Oh my god, David, fine! If you think you have such a scary story, why don’t you tell it then?”


	4. David

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to this group of carnies for letting me participate! <3

“I don’t have a story,” David waves off Alexis.

“You have to have a story,” Stevie holds her hand up, David rolls his eyes but drops a few M&Ms into her palm.

“Everyone has a story,” Twyla says, eyes wide and on David. 

“Yeah, David,” Patrick whispers as he leans in close, his hand is on David’s bicep and David smiles softly at the touch. “You have to have something.”

“Nope,” David shakes his head. They’re insisting, but David knows he doesn’t have anything to say. “I’ve never seen a ghost, haven’t had a neighbor that turned out to be a serial killer. I don’t go into the woods unless I absolutely have to, so I’ve never stumbled upon a dead body.”

“You guys have to have a creepy family member,” Stevie continues. “Everyone has one.”

“I have several,” Twyla adds, nodding. 

“Oh you know what!” Alexis gasps as her fingers crumble a piece of popcorn. “We do have one!”

“Aunt DeeDee’s questionable judgement doesn’t make her creepy, Alexis,” David tries to reason. “And her judgement is  _ very _ questionable.”

“No, David!” Alexis waves her hand at him. David wants to bat it out of the air. “No, I was talking about that grand aunt that Mom made you go hang out with.”

“Ohhh,” David whispers. “Yeah, she was strange.”

“Tell us!” Twyla exclaims and David rolls his eyes.

“There isn’t much to say,” David says. He’ll indulge them, but it really wasn’t anything. “ Grandaunt Sarah rang—”

“Who? What’s a grandaunt?” Stevie interrupts. 

“Your grandparents' sibling,” David explains with a huff. 

“That’s your great aunt,” Stevie reaches her hand up again and David drops more M&Ms into her palm.

“It’s interchangeable but grandaunt is the technical term,” David waved her off. His mother had made sure he knew this growing up. “Anyway! As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, Grandaunt Sarah wanted to meet up with Mom. But Mom had to work, and Alexis was off in São Paulo. So I had to go.”

“No, David, tell the entire story,” Alexis needles him. “Just start from the beginning! You were so creeped out. You brought it up like, each time I saw you, for a whole year afterwards.”

“Ugh,” David groans. “Okay, so Alexis was in São Paulo and I was home for the summer. I was 18? 19?”

There was a scoff and David throws a handful of popcorn at Stevie before he even knows he’s doing it. 

“I was home for the summer,” David repeats. “Mom got a call from her Aunt Sarah asking to meet up. So she set a date. When it came to it, Mom had to cancel, but Grandaunt Sarah was very persistent that someone meet up with her. Which, when I came home, the newest Givenchy collection was waiting on my bed, so it was technically worth it.”

“Wasn’t she dressed like a witch?” Alexis prompts, her hands propped underneath her chin. 

“Oh my god, Alexis! I’m getting there,” David snaps at her quickly. Patrick’s hand draws larger circles around his back. “I get to her mansion and she answers the door wearing all black lace with a veil hanging in front of her face.”

“Sounds hot,” Stevie winks at him. 

“Ew,” David grimaces. “Mom told me she was a little eccentric and about the whole black clothing thing.”

“Is that where you got it?” Patrick teases. David rolls his eyes at him in return. 

“She invited me in. Offered me tea, but I was told before I left home to not eat or drink anything she gave me,” David shrugs at the memory. It was weird, but nothing to think about. “There was also an almond cake and those little marzipan things that are shaped like fruits. But I just drank the bottled water that she gave me, because I was told anything with a seal would be okay to consume.”

He looks around at all the confused faces. 

“I think she was a bad cook or something. The inability to cook runs in the family,” David waves off the comment. “Well, we sit down and she starts telling me about how she’s lonely and about all her ex-husbands. She was married four times and they all died. She talked about how she was ready to settle down in one place and stop running. Whatever that means.”

“Kinda sounds like she killed them,” Patrick comments. David raises his eyebrows at him. “Her husbands.”

“What?” David turns to look around the group. “No, they all had “bad health”! The first one died of a heart attack or something. Another died because his appendix burst while they were on vacation and they couldn’t get to a doctor in time.”

“No, I agree with Patrick,” Stevie says from his other side. 

When he looks around, everyone has the same look on their face. 

“Sounds like a black widow,” Twyla says as she nods. “I would know. My family has had 3. Until they all tried to kill each other to get the others off their dad’s will, and then I only had 1. But she’s in prison for life, so it’s kind of like I don’t have any anymore.”

“That’s not—” David means to continue but Stevie cuts him off. 

“It totally sounds like she poisoned them,” Stevie says. Even Ted’s nodding.

“You could almost say she—” Ted starts, but David cuts him off before Ted can say a pun. There are no puns allowed in David’s stories. 

“No—”

“Yes, David, I totally remember Mom saying something about everyone in the family avoiding her because she was creepy and totally killed all her husbands,” Alexis is looking at David like he’s stupid and he hates the feeling the look brings. Because now that she says it, it sounds  _ really  _ familiar and did his mom really send him to have dinner with a  _ known  _ murderer? “Mom was convinced that she was just trying to get into the family trust.”

But he’s up before he knows he’s standing, hands gripping the bowl he never set down. 

“Mom!” He throws open the door that separates their rooms. She looks up from her book, tucked into bed with a flashlight. 

“Grand Aunt Sarah—”

“David,” She chastises, eyes still on her book. “Must we speak about her? I cannot be held accountable for the exploits of that sanguinary woman.”

His jaw drops and he can hear the laughter coming from his room. 

“Come back, David!” Alexis calls out. “You took the M&Ms!”

When he makes his way back in, Alexis double winks at him. “I told you she was weird.”

He lets Patrick pull him back down onto the bed and leans into his side. 

  
  



	5. Patrick

Stevie wraps her lips around the opening of her wine bottle and takes a long, slow pull, her eyes narrowing as she stares at Patrick, perched on the end of the bed next to David. 

“You’re being awfully quiet over there tonight, Brewer.” She quirks her eyebrow and sets her bottle down with a gently aggressive click. 

Patrick shrugs and leans back, grabbing a handful of the peanuts-and-candy corn snack mix on the bedside table, popping a few pieces in David’s mouth when he opens it expectantly. “I just think it’s funny that apparently _none_ of you know what a scary story is.”

There are overlapping choruses of frustrated indignation from both and his boyfriend and his boyfriend's sister, and Patrick manages to pick out “but my hair!” and “she was a _murderer_ ” as he chuckles and sucks his teeth. “Look, I don’t make the rules.”

“The rules of what, scary stories?” David asks.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Well then why don’t _you_ try,” Alexis says with a defensive sniff, tossing a chunk of hair over her shoulder and picking up her wine glass.

Patrick lets out a long, slow sigh, his eyes not leaving Alexis’s face as he finishes the handful of candy and leans forward, bracing his elbow on his knees. His voice has dropped, and he watches as the others lean in towards him to hear better. “Would it surprise any of you if I told you I learned it from my father?”

"No," they all say in unison, Stevie and Alexis with dueling eye-rolls while Twyla looks kind and David looks...well, in love. David looks deeply and fondly in love with Patrick.

Patrick chuckles and rubs a hand along his jaw, shrugging. "Didn't think so. Anyway, I was maybe ten or eleven when he told me the story of how I got my name."

" _Scary_ story, honey," David says in a stage whisper. "You tell us the story _every_ March. He's your dad's favorite saint.” 

Patrick nods, but doesn’t smile. "Yeah, but, uh. I've never told you guys this version."

Something in his voice makes David shift uncomfortably and Stevie lean towards him, tongue darting out along her lip and an almost hungry look in her eyes. It's possible she was slightly _too_ into this evening.

David rolls his eyes. “Okay, Patrick. Why don’t you just go ahead and tell us the _terrifying_ story of your practical Irish Catholic name reveal.”

Patrick lets the silence hang in the air for a beat too long before he starts talking. He looks at the palms of his hands, the pads of his fingers, the length and jagged edges of his nails — basically anywhere but at the assembled group of listeners. 

"Well, like I said, I was young. Ten, if I had to bet. He'd just caught me on some Yahoo baseball message board and thought it was time to have the 'Stranger Danger' talk with me."

Ted and Twyla nod knowingly as both Rose siblings simultaneously say, "what's that?"

Patrick doesn't stop to explain, but pats David gently on the arm. "So that night before bed he said, 'I'm going to tell you a story, Patrick.' Now, my dad told me bedtime stories all the time, so this wasn't new —"

"—ohmygod of _course_ he did!" Alexis says.

"But what was new was that on that particular night, he was going to tell me a scary story. Of course, I assumed it would just be the 'internet safety' talk disguised as a scary story, so I rolled my eyes when he went in with his 'Once upon a time, there was a boy named Aaron…'"

"'Aaron was a generally good kid – he loved baseball, and comic books, and playing with his friends on the internet.'

'Ugh, _dad_ ,' I groaned.

"My dad held up his hands and chuckled but even then I remember thinking that his laugh sounded a little...different."

"...different how?" David asks, his voice quiet and tinged with nerves. 

"Just different. Sharper, I guess, but quiet. Sorta like your voice is now, actually. So, my dad kept going, over my protesting.

“‘Aaron was such a friendly kid, he didn't just talk to his friends on the games he played. He talked to all the other kids, too, and before too long he started to make new friends. One new friend, HelpfulKid83, became one of his new _best_ friends. He and Aaron had the same favorite team the same favorite superhero, and even the same birthday.'"

Patrick pretends not to see the exasperated look Alexis and David share, and the yawn from Stevie that seems, somehow, aggressively pointed. 

"'Well, as soon as HelpfulK!d83 learned they had matching birthdays, he insisted on sending Aaron a gift. He asked Aaron for his address and, after thinking about it for a while, Aaron gave his address to HelpfulK!d83 after making him promise promise _promise_ he wouldn't tell anyone else. HelpfulK!d83 crossed his heart and swore to die.'

“'Aaron shouldn't have done that, dad,' I told him, and my dad just let his hand fall on my shoulder, accompanied by a heavy nod."

"Is there more wine," Stevie not-whispers to David, and he nods, shuffling around to pass her a glass, an apologetic look on his face.

"'It didn't take long for Aaron to start feeling guilty, though. By the end of the next night, he'd decided he needed to just tell his parents. He knew he'd probably get in trouble, but he also knew it would make the sick feeling in his tummy go away. So he squirmed in bed, waiting for his parents to tuck in his baby brother, rehearsing in his mind what he was going to say.'

'The more time passed, the more Aaron heard the sounds of the house – the rumble of the washing machine where it knocked gently into the walls, the slurping, sucking sound of the dishwasher rinsing, the half-cries of his brother. And then there were some noises he...couldn't quite pinpoint, no matter how hard he listened. After what seemed like forever, he finally heard his dad's footsteps in the hall.

'Hey dad, can you come in here,' Aaron called. 'I have something I need to tell you.'

His dad stuck his head in the door at a weird angle, and said, 'what do you need, son?' Aaron couldn't be sure in the dark, but it looked like his dad's mouth wasn't moving.'"

"Holy crap," Ted says under his breath, and Patrick’s answering nod is slow. 

"Yeah. So, Aaron pulls his blankets a little tighter around himself and says:

'Is-is mom around? I want to tell her, too.'

‘Of course I’m here, son, I’m right behind your father.’ Her head popped up next to his dad's, which should have been odd because his parents weren't the same height. His mom's voice was a high falsetto, reedy and sing-songy in a voice that didn't sound anything like his mother's. 'What did you want to talk about? You didn’t happen to give our address out, did you?’ the voice asked. ‘To a nice young boy who shares your birthday? You really should be more careful, you know.’

“And before Aaron can open his mouth to answer, the heads of his parents roll across the room, wet and thumping and warm enough to steam, landing in the thin sliver of yellow light from the night-light plugged into Aaron's wall.'"

David gasps, his hands flying to his mouth. His eyes are wide — all of their eyes are wide — and if it weren’t so fucking horrifying, Patrick would probably laugh. 

"'Before Aaron can pull his thoughts away from the terror in his mother's eyes and the jagged bits of skin around the base of his father's neck, there's someone on top of him. Aaron tastes dirt and motor oil and something coppery on the hand that covers his mouth, and even though it's impossible, Aaron feels like the glint off the kitchen knife in the man's hand flashes like lightning.'

“'The man looks like one of the men who plays golf with his father, his hair more grey than brown and his dark blue t-shirt tucked into his black jeans. How normal he looks is the last thought in Aaron's head before the cool steel slides into his belly, and then back out, and then in again, as Aaron gasps around the gentle friction of metal on skin before blood slicks the way.'"

"Your-your _dad_ told you this story?" Alexis looks like she's about to chew off a manicured cuticle and Patrick almost wishes he didn't have to nod. 

"He sure did."

"That's, like. Sorta fucked up, isn't it?" Patrick raises an eyebrow at her and she shrugs. "I mean we weren't, like, the Brady Bunch, but yikes, Patrick."

Patrick just shrugs and reaches behind him for another beer, which he drains half of in a single pull before continuing.

"'After a few hours of playing with Aaron, connecting the freckles on his back with razor-thin slices and seeing how many fingers you still needed to play rock-paper-scissors, Aaron's screams were down to whimpers. He was begging for the man to be done, and the man was nothing if not helpful. But just before he could draw the knife across Aaron's throat, he heard the baby cry down the hall.'

“'The man felt drawn to the sound, leaving Aaron bleeding slowly into the mattress as he made his way to the nursery. He'd never murdered a baby before, and was excited for the chance – until the baby looked at him with big brown eyes and stopped crying, stopped wiggling, and laughed.'

“'So the man picked the baby up, ran a bloody hand across his cheek, and began to bounce him like a pro. He pressed a kiss to the baby's head and grabbed the baby's grey and brown elephant blanket out of the crib, nestling the baby close to his chest.'

“'And, after stopping to slice through the small, still, cooling body in the next bedroom, the man took the baby home and named him after his father, and his favorite Saint - Patrick.'

“And I looked at my dad and said 'That's-that's my name.'"

"...and?" Twyla's voice is so close to non-existent, after it's gone none of them are sure she really asked, or if they'd all just had the same collective thought.

"And he ruffled my hair and chucked my chin and said 'sure is, son,' before he kissed my forehead and pulled my favorite grey and brown elephant blanket higher around my chin."

The silence between them all was so palpably thick, when the air conditioned flicked on with a gentle hum, David screamed, “FUCK” in a high-pitched whine and Alexis jumped so hard her flower crown fell off.

“Well,” Stevie said, her mouth bent in a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “That was quite the story, Patrick.”

“It was, wasn’t it Stevie,” he said, leaning back and grabbing another handful of snack mix, winking at her when no one else could see. “I told you I knew how to do this whole ghost story thing.”

“Would’ve been so much better if it were real,” Stevie said, her voice cheery, David and Alexis already chatting away behind her, diffusing the tension by revisiting just how many of their aunt’s former suitors had ended up dead. “No internet,” she says wisely. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, his eyes soft and loud and the way they only get when he’s playing at Peak Troll. “It would’ve been better, wouldn’t it? If only.”

And even though no one sees it and it’s _entirely_ coincidence, Stevie shivers. She pulls her flannel half an inch tighter around herself and doesn't notice Patrick watching.

“Why don’t you go, Stevie?” Patrick says.


	6. Stevie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to storieswelove for the beta and to this whole group for letting me play in the sandbox!

“Oh, I don’t know if I should.” If there’s one thing Stevie’s good at it’s keeping a straight face. She takes a swig of her wine, expression giving away nothing. “I don’t want to freak anybody out.”

“Mmkay.” David narrows his eyes down at her from his higher vantage point on the bed. “First of all, this whole stupid thing was your idea and second, I thought the whole _point_ was to freak everybody out.” Then he smirks at her — the kind of smirk that inevitably ends with them doing something really, really stupid. “Unless, of course, you can’t think of anything to say.”

“It’s not that I don’t have something to say.” She lets her eyes get big and round, though she suspects it doesn’t have the same air of innocence as when Patrick does it. “It’s just that _some_ people in this room are a little… delicate.” 

“Fuck off.”

She does grin, then. “Who says I was talking about you?”

“Oh my god, just tell your stupid story already.” Patrick runs a soothing hand down David’s arm at David’s squawk, and she watches David relax into it. It’s gross, they’re gross, and she hates that she loves it.

“Fine.” She takes another drink before setting her bottle down on the floor. “David, remember that time I turned up in your room after a tailgate because there was a thunderstorm and I didn’t want to walk home? So I climbed into bed with you?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” David’s whole face scrunches up as though it’s the most traumatised he’s ever been in this room, which Stevie knows for a fact it isn’t. She still remembers the bug. “You were all damp and musty and you wouldn’t stop clinging to me no matter how many times I kicked you.”

Stevie nods slowly. “Right. What if… what if I told you that wasn't actually me?”

A long and tense silence follows this announcement.

“But it was you.” And oh, David already sounds uncertain. This is going to be good. 

“Was it, though?”

David sputters indignantly as he turns to his sister. “Alexis, you were there! It was Stevie, right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about?” Alexis shrugs as she winds a strand of hair around her finger. 

David’s arms start flailing so wildly Patrick is almost knocked off the bed before he recovers his balance, scooting back slightly. “You were right there in the other bed! You said if we didn’t stop talking and go back to sleep you’d cut up one of my Givenchys!”

“Um, I don’t _think_ so? I don’t remember this at all, David.”

David makes a frustrated growl in the back of his throat before turning back to Stevie. “It was you.”

“It wasn’t. It was the ghost of Dorothy Schitt.”

“Okay.” David picks up his drink and takes a large gulp, his face pinched. “This is all Halloween fun, but I draw the line at being told I was spooned by one of Roland’s relatives.”

“Why don’t you let her tell the story, David.” Patrick’s face is guileless, the way it only is when he’s trolling David mercilessly, and Stevie nods at him in silent acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Patrick.” She looks around the room. “Has no one here — apart from Twyla and Ted, I’m guessing—” She shoots them both a look, silently begging them not to cast doubt on the story, but Twyla just smiles beatifically back at her and Ted grins— “heard the story of Dorothy Schitt?”

She gets several shaken heads in return, and takes a deep breath. 

“Well, Dorothy Schitt was, you’ve probably guessed, related to the founder of this town. His daughter. Rumour has it that there was a man she wanted to marry when she was young, but her dad wouldn’t allow it. He said no man was good enough for a Schitt.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.” Twyla’s voice cuts softly through her story, completely missing the irony in Stevie’s last statement, but her empathy is so genuine it makes Stevie stumble for a second.

“What’s _really_ sad,” Stevie says, recovering, “is that she never loved again, and never left this town. She grew old here, all alone.” She clears her throat, backing away from _that_ train of thought. “Once her parents were both gone she moved into the motel to live out the rest of her years, but…” She looks around to see everyone’s eyes locked on hers, rapt with attention. “She had no friends, and eventually… she went crazy from the loneliness.”

No one says anything for a long moment, until Alexis breaks the silence with wide eyes and a hushed voice. “What happened?”

“No one knows.” Stevie lets her voice drop, low and spooky. “Maybe she killed herself. Maybe a wandering vagrant broke in and murdered her — that happens sometimes, around here.” She shrugs casually, noting with satisfaction as David and Alexis exchange panicked glances. “Maybe a wild animal broke in. Either way, when someone came to do housekeeping the next day they found Dorothy dead on the bed, her body torn apart, blood all over the walls.”

“Ew.” It’s such a David tone but it comes from _Patrick,_ of all people, and she makes a mental note to make fun of him for it later.

“So, of course, some poor person has to come and collect the body.” Stevie winces, remembering the room four debacle. “Her nieces and nephews arrange a poorly attended funeral, and the room she was in gets a fresh coat of paint on the walls, and then everybody kind of… forgets about her.” She pauses dramatically. “Until she comes back.”

David sucks in a breath. “Comes back?”

“The motel starts getting complaints.” Stevie shrugs, determinedly nonchalant. “Guests staying in Dorothy’s old room talk about an old woman pacing the room, muttering incoherently. Sometimes getting into bed with them, as though she’s lonely. Sometimes just hovering over them, watching them while they sleep.”

“And…” David clears his throat, his eyes sliding away. Got him. “Which room was Dorothy’s?”

Her smile turns positively feral. “Oh, I think you know the answer to that question.”

She’s watching David’s face, which means even she jumps when Alexis shrieks. “You saw her!” She leaps off her bed, pointing at David with the hand that’s holding her drink, liquid sloshing over the sides. “You told me, after we looked at that _murder apartment,_ that you’d seen an old woman waving her hands over my face! I thought you were _fucking with me!”_

“I _was_ fucking with you!” David twists wildly, his gaze flitting between Patrick and Stevie and his sister. “I was _absolutely_ fucking with you, and I never told anyone else that story— what the _fuck!”_ When he leans forward to grab frantically at his drink Patrick winks at Stevie behind his back, and she hides her answering smile around the neck of her wine bottle.

How has no one ever told David he talks in his sleep?


	7. Ted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not apologize for any of these puns. Thank you for your time. (Also thanks to schittposting for letting me write these puns!)

“Whose turn is it next, do you think?” David asks, shrugging off his frustration and _fine_ , okay, fear. 

“Um, we haven’t heard Ted’s yet.” Alexis taps at Ted’s shoulder.

“Yes.” Stevie keeps her eyes wide as she nods, but her well-aimed kick at David’s shin belies her enthusiasm.

“Keep laughing,” David mutters. “I’m not staging a lover’s quarrel to get you out of this one if you don’t want to listen.”

“Hi,” Patrick says, intrigued. He runs a hand up David’s arm. “Lover’s quarrel?”

“Please,” Stevie kicks him again. “You didn’t even know it was a fake fight until it was over.”

“When was a fake fight?” Ted asks. “That dinner party? Oh, David, I kept looking for you the next day to see if you were okay. I was worried that something bad a- _Rose_.”

David coughs into his drink. “Thanks, Ted,” he manages.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Alexis rubs her hands together impatiently. “Ted. Go.” She drops her shoulders and lifts her chin. It’s her listening face. 

“Why are you so anxious to hear this story?” Stevie asks. “Did you want to tell us another story when he’s done or something?”

“No, Stevie. I just know none of you would believe Ted could make this up.”

Ted lights up like the golden retriever he fostered the week before. “Oh, I didn’t think you liked that story. You left so soon after I finished telling it.”

“Did you tell her she had to touch the animals?” David asks. “That could’ve done it.”

“If I had a problem with guys I’m dating making bad jokes, my thing with Russell Brand would’ve ended, like, way sooner.”

“Okay, so,” Ted mirrors Alexis and rubs his hands together. “You remember how I do that neutering and spaying event every year? Neuterpalooza?”

“Actively working on not remembering that, actually,” David says under his breath. Patrick elbows him.

“I remember.” Patrick says.

“Well, I had too many appointments for just one weekend a few years back. The practice was still really new. You know how it is,” Ted gestures to Patrick.

“Sure,” Patrick says carefully. “The business part. Not the, um—vet part.”

“I stayed up until midnight on Sunday trying to get everyone, y’know.” He makes a slicing motion with his hands. 

Stevie gags.

“Trying to get all the procedures done,” Ted amends. “I was so tired, and I still had four or five little guys to,” he looks at Stevie, “take care of. To take care of. So I set an alarm on my phone for a few hours later and fell asleep on one of the chairs in the waiting room.”

“Ew,” Alexis wrinkles her nose. “Those are _not_ comfortable. And when was the last time you even _cleaned_ one of those?”

“Well, that was your job, Alexis, so you tell me.” Ted says easily. “But yes. Not comfortable. And apparently not clean. So I’m asleep and I hear a sound coming from the kennels.”

“Are those the little dog jails?” Alexis asks.

“Does Ted actually pay you for the great work you do?” David raises his eyebrows. Alexis’s glare could melt ice. 

“You had a bunch of animals there,” Patrick says, ignoring David and Alexis’s bickering. “I get it. Must have been hard to get good sleep.”

“I only had six kennels then,” Ted says. “And like I said, four or five were full. So I go back there to make sure nobody got out. Little paws can do a lot of damage to those latches, and they don’t come cheap. I had a cat in once that had never had its nails trimmed. It was pretty _claw_ -ful.”

David puts his head in his hands.

“I’m in the back room, and there’s something huddled behind my exam table. I think, sure, one of the dogs got out and doesn’t want to be here, so far from their house. It must be dis- _pup_ -pointing.” 

Patrick runs a soothing hand over the back of David’s neck as Twyla nods along. Stevie takes another drink and looks entirely too pleased.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you all were still holding your charming parley.” Moira stands in the doorway between the Rose family bedrooms, the light from her and Johnny’s room casting her in shadow. 

“Hi, Mrs. Rose,” Ted says brightly. 

“Hello...you.” Moira pats Ted’s forearm. David mouths _Ted_ , and Moira nods decisively. “Theodore. What are you all doing in here?”

“Ted was just finishing up a story, actually.” Alexis scoots slightly closer to Ted.

“Like I said,” Ted gets right back into his story. “I see something under my exam table. But as I get a little closer, it doesn’t seem like this fella is any of the animals I have on the schedule for the next day. I had two cats and three dogs, but they’re all pretty small. I only had one big dog on my client list at that time. A Dalmatian. And I had taken care of him on Friday, so he was already back home. Then, I _spot_ that there are still five animals in kennels along the wall.”

Stevie exhales. “And you didn’t just miscount? Because when we took trig together—”

“Stevie. I graduated from vet school. I think I can count to five.” Ted rubs his hands over his knees. He’s still wearing his scrubs from work. “No, there were still five animals in their kennels.”

“Spooky,” Twyla says. “My dad had five dogs once. Until their owners found them.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

Ted cuts Patrick off. “So I peek down at this little guy, except he stops being so little really quickly. It kind of...shifts? Gets bigger and bigger until its head is scraping the top of my ceiling and big globs of slobber land on the floor. One gets on my shoe.” His face scrunches up. “I had to burn those shoes. And they were really good shoes, too. There’s this website that sells entire outfits for half off, and they discontinued the outfit the shoes came with. Casual Professional, it was called.”

“You burned your shoes in your dream? That’s specific.” Stevie doesn’t seem surprised that sensible, careful Ted would clean up a mess even while asleep. 

“Are we saving feedback until curtain?” Moira asks David. She’s pretty bad at volume control despite all those classes.

Ted waves a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t look like any dog I’ve ever seen. Huge eyes, you know, big and beady, and its fur was all matted down. It smelled _paws_ -itively terrible.”

“How does he have so many of these?” Stevie whispers.

“I thought, this is what I do, and—”

“ _That’s_ what you do?” David asks.

“This is sort of what I do,” Ted continues, “and I should try to calm it down. So I lift up my arm, and I try to pat at its shoulder. I couldn’t reach the top of its head or anything. By now, of course, all the other animals are awake, and they’re making just the worst noises.”

“What are these priorities,” Stevie says. David shushes her. 

“Sometimes it’s easier to unload the dishwasher than clean up all the broken glass,” Twyla says sagely.

“Such good advice.” Alexis taps the bedspread. 

“Is it, though?” David asks.

“Guys,” Patrick’s eyes are wide. David remembers too late how quickly Patrick turned off _Cujo_ when it came on last week. “Let him finish. Then you woke up, right Ted?”

“It was the wildest thing. One minute, my hand is about to make contact with all that fur, and the next I’m laying across three chairs while “Cracker Jack” plays on my phone.”

“I love Dolly Parton,” Twyla says. 

“Not the point, Twy.” Alexis pats at Twyla’s hair.

“I go back to the kennels, just to make sure, and it’s an absolute zoo. All five kennels are still closed, but there’s hair everywhere. I don’t take very good care of the place when I’m running specials. And I had to mop up, because some animal had an accident on the floor or something.”

“Um.” Alexis pokes David’s arm.

“So I clean everything up and then do the rest of the surgeries.”

Stevie clears her throat. 

“Sorry. Still, it was weird. Now I make sure to go up to my bed and get some actual rest between days of Neuterpalooza. Besides having weird dreams, I can get a little _snippy_.”

“Okay.” David pinches the bridge of his nose. This might be the line that breaks him. 

“Um,” Alexis says it louder this time.

David turns to look at his sister. “What?” 

“Show them your scar, babe,” she says casually, looking at Ted.

“Oh, this?” Ted holds his arm up to the light. There’s a half-circle of puckered white near the elbow. “Not sure where I got it. Must have blocked out a nasty bite. Maybe one of the times I checked up on those mini horses out near Elmdale at the _spur_ of the moment.”

“Wow,” Patrick says. His hand clutches at David’s sweater. David doesn’t yell at him about stretching the weave of the fabric, though. “Look at that.”


	8. Moira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Margaux for the beta-read and to Caite for being my Shakespeare consultant, to all the authors for writing this with me, and to everyone for reading!

“Have I ever told you about my turn as the title character’s consort in the Scottish Play?” Moira asks, pouring herself a vodka soda.

“You mean when you did that cruise ship performance of Macbeth?”

“Alexis! You must never utter its name in a theater.”

“Mrs. Rose, we’re not in a theater.” Stevie points out.

“As the bard himself said, all the world’s a stage, dear.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

“The curse of the Scottish Play goes back to its origins,” Moira continues as if David hadn’t said anything, “when Shakespeare himself had to step in for an actor who fell ill before the first performance. And misfortunes have followed it ever since. Let us not forget what happened to Sir Laurence Olivier during his run as the title character at the Old Vic! He almost died! Or worse, the fate that befell my old friend Peter O’Toole two score later at that very same venue!”

“What happened then?” Ted asks.

“The show was very poorly reviewed!”

“Mom!” Alexis says. “Get to the point, what happened during your show?”

“Oh, forgive me for trying to set a mood, Alexis! But very well, I’ll tell you my story. I was hired as a last-minute replacement when the actress who initially held the role vanished under mysterious circumstances.

“From the moment I stepped aboard the boat an eerie sense of foreboding invaded my psyche. There was a chill in the air, and not just from the frigid sea breezes. I met my cabin attendant, Carla, who told me she was a fan of my character on Sunrise Bay as she took my bags and showed me to my room. The understudy had taken over for the original Lady M while the company awaited my arrival, and she performed the role one last time my first night on board, so I had time to settle in. I spent the afternoon going over my lines in my cabin, then watched the show that evening. The understudy gave it her all, but her performance was pedestrian at best. However, the viewing did give me an idea of what I was working with with the production.

“When I returned to my cabin afterwards, a shadowy figure lurked in the hall outside my door. I approached it warily, but calmed when I saw that it was merely the cabin attendant, Carmen.”

“I thought you said her name was Carla,” Twyla says, confused.

“I believe that’s what I said, dear,” Moira replied. “I’m sure the girl was just waiting to ask for a signed photograph or some such token, you know how fans are, but I was fatigued from the journey, and still without my sea legs, so I told her I’d sign her program after the next night’s show, and I retired to my cabin.

“As I was drifting into slumber that night, I thought I heard a noise at my door, as if someone tried the handle, but left after finding it locked. I was sure I was imagining things, though, and before long was fast asleep, and when I arose that morning I was certain it was some terrible dream.

“I spent the next day in rehearsal, getting up to speed, and by that evening was ready to tread the boards. My first performance went as smoothly as can be expected, though my costume wasn’t yet fitted properly, and that artless half-wit who played Banquo missed a cue in the third act.”

“Okay, when exactly does the scary part come in?”

“I’m getting there, David! A little patience, please! I took a shower after the show, and when I emerged, there was a message written in the steam upon my mirror. In large, bold letters, it read, ‘FAIR IS FOUL, FOUL IS FAIR’. I immediately made search of my cabin, but there was no one to be found, and the door was locked from the inside, just as I had left it. Some ghostly apparition, then, must have left this omen for me to find.

“Late that night, I was roused by a return of the noise at my door, more insistent than before, as of some intruder who wished to gain entrance to my chamber. The lock held fast, however, and eventually the noises ceased. I spent the rest of the night in slumbery agitation.

“After my second performance, more ill tidings appeared in the foggy glass after my evening ablutions. ‘SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES,’ it read. This prognostication left me in such emotional disarray. Remembering the noises I had heard at my door the previous two nights, I braced a chair under the knob in hopes that would safeguard further against any threats.

“Sure enough, I awoke to a noise at my door once more that night, louder and more desperate still. As with the previous two nights, it eventually ceased, but after that I could sleep no more.

“The feeling of disquietude followed me throughout the entire next day. As I was in my dressing room getting ready for my third performance, I felt a great perturbation in nature, and my nerves trembled far beyond any mere stage fright. But I screwed my courage to the sticking-place, for the show must go on.

“It was during act five, scene one that it happened, the pivotal scene where my character somnambulates.

“Out, damn spot!” Moira shouts in character as Lady Macbeth, making Patrick jump. “Out, I say!”

Patrick leans over to David. “Is this something she does a lot?” he asks in a low voice as Moira continues her monologue.

“You’ll get used to it,” David says, patting his boyfriend’s arm.

“Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.” Moira finishes, and abruptly shifts out of character. “At that moment, I heard a bloodcurdling shriek from the back of the house. I squinted through the bright stage lights to see Charlotte--”

“Carla?” Stevie asks.

“Yes, yes, Carly, running up the aisle, coming straight for me at an alarming speed. I was frozen, rooted in place, as she jumped onto the stage, but she ran, not into me, but past me, at the figure that lurked behind me, who she knocked over with a surprising force. In the ensuing fracas I recognized the woman Clara knocked over as my understudy, and she was holding a knife, which Caroline wrested from her grip.”

“Wow, she’s really on a roll with the names tonight, huh?” Ted says, leaning over to Alexis.

“This is nothing. David and I once counted twenty-six different names she called our maid in a single 48-hour period.”

“Ship security ran in a moment later and helped Caitlin apprehend the unscrupulous understudy. The audience, for their part, were none the wiser. They seemed to think this whole kerfuffle was a part of the play, and clapped and cheered when the would-be murderess was taken to the brig.

“I continued with my performance, was met with a standing ovation, and it was, as they say, smooth sailing from there on out. I later learned that Clarissa suspected the understudy's plot against me because she had spied her trying to break into my room at night, but apparently the girl had a very active imagination, so the captain didn’t believe her when she reported these nocturnal goings on. At any rate, for the rest of the journey I was troubled no more by those vexatious nightly messages and disturbances, and the understudy was arrested upon our return to dry land.”

“Wait, that’s it? But where did the messages come from?” Twyla asks.

“I assume it was some friendly spirit trying to warn me of the impending attempt on my life.”

“Mom, it was obviously your cabin attendant,” said Alexis. “She must have written the messages in soap when she cleaned your room so they would appear when the mirror fogged up. I used the same trick to get messages to my friend when we were being held captive by that Scandinavian biker gang.”

“Wait,” David says, “so she really tried to warn you about your _potential murder_ using cryptic Shakespeare quotes?”

“Oh, I suppose the messages may have said something more pedestrian like ‘YOU’RE IN DANGER’, but allow your mother a little dramatic license, David!”

“A _little_?”

Just then, there’s a noise from the adjoining room. Everyone is quiet while they listen to what sounds like someone trying to turn the doorknob. David clutches Patrick’s arm, and they all look at each other, no one daring to move, as the sound of the doorknob being pulled and jiggled continues. Then it stops, and they all breathe a sigh of relief, but their eyes grow wide again when, a moment later, the doorknob of David and Alexis’s room turns. Twyla gasps, and Patrick shifts slightly to position himself between David and the door.

“Moira? Kids? Open up!”

Moira sighs in relief and unlocks the door to a soaking wet Johnny.

“Moira, why was the door locked?” He asks as he steps inside. “It’s pouring out there and I left my key in the room!”

“To keep out intruders, John! Or would you rather a homicidal interloper broke in and attacked us all?”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to break in, sweetheart. Anyway, I got in touch with the power company, and just as I thought, they’re not gonna be able to get anyone out here until morning. So all we can do now is go to bed.”

“Well, I’ve so enjoyed our little assembly of bards. Good night, all.” Moira and Johnny return to their room, closing the adjoining door behind them.

“I’m gonna head out, I’ve got an early morning at the cafe,” Twyla says as she goes.

“I have to leave, too.” Ted stands up and grabs his keys. “I’m checking up on some of Mr. Hockley’s pens tomorrow, so I have to stop by the _farm_ -acy.”

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Alexis says when he’s gone, and heads to the bathroom with her pajamas.

“You gonna be able to sleep okay?” Patrick asks David.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” David says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll see you at work in the morning.” Patrick gives him a brief kiss before he leaves.

“You think you’re gonna be okay, David?” Stevie asks with faux sincerity.

“Go stand in the storm with a lightning rod, please.”

Stevie laughs. “Okay, well, good night. Watch out for the ghost of Dorothy Schitt.”

“I know you made that up, Stevie.”

“Did I, though?”

“Good night,” David says sharply, ushering Stevie out the door.

Stevie cackles as she leaves, and David immediately locks the door behind her.

At first David thinks it’s just the wind making that weird moaning noise outside, but then it gets louder.

“Ugh, fuck off, Stevie!” he says, loud enough for her to hear through the window.

There’s no response.

“... Stevie?”


End file.
